Out of the Blue
by greyhoundredux
Summary: After constant attempts by Mr. Syme at coaxing Ponyboy into sending his theme off to a publisher, he finally does it.
1. Hesitation

**A/N: **Okay! Hey, everyone! This is my first multi-chaptered story since Congratulations. I'm thinking that this is only going to be three or four chapters. Unless I get some sudden inspiration. *Wink, wink, nudge, nudge*  
Enjoy, everyone! And please give me your honest opinions. It's how I get better.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Outsiders_. My favorite fake-people belong to S.E. Hinton.

* * *

**Out of the Blue - Chapter One **

* * *

When I first wrote it, I sometimes really sort of regretted writing that theme.

I had written the theme a month ago, so I could get my grade up. I was mixed up after Johnny and Dally's death, and my grades were dropping madly. I tried as hard as I could to concentrate in school but all efforts were futile.

Mr. Syme compromised that he'd give me at least a C in English on the report card if I wrote a good enough theme. Well, I reckon he must have forgotten about that, since he ended up giving me an A+ in his class. He wanted me to enter my story in to a writing contest, but at the time, I had refused. The events were too fresh in my mind.

Two days after I turned the final copy in, Mr. Syme had told me he stayed up all night to read it. That I was great at writing and I should consider getting it published. I had never thought of myself as a writer (more as an artist) but that sort of triggered something in me to start writing short stories.

I was reluctant to get it published, though, because the events that were written were true and personal and I didn't know if I wanted the world to read about it. Not to mention, was it even good enough to get published? I didn't speak too good of English, had bad grammar, so would that be a problem?

Mr. Syme also had told me that he had plans to schedule a teacher's meeting to talk about the theme. He asked my permission first to make sure it was okay for him to let the staff read it before he made the meeting. I thought that was real nice of him. That's another reason why I liked him so much. He was a guy you could really trust. He wouldn't have let them read it if I didn't want them to.

I had given him permission to, since, why the heck not? Most of them probably knew the story anyway, or the basic idea of it, and I didn't want my teachers to continually be thinking I was some kind of murderer who killed Bob Sheldon.

After their faculty meeting, countless amounts of young, female teachers (who most I'd never had in a class before) came up to me in swarms in the hallways between classes, fawning over everything that happened to me in Windrixville and muttering things like, "I cried," and "You've got talent, Ponyboy," and "You brave boy," and even a, "So _that's_ why your hair's blond now!"

Teachers must have thrown all caution to the wind because when I got my report card back I had mostly B's, except a C+ in Math. I thought it was good enough, and Darry wasn't complaining or anything, so I figured I had gotten off the hook.

The principal got involved in the teacher's meeting and - get this - wanted me to come to his office to _talk about things_. Maybe even get Darry to come up and talk, too. I really didn't want him to. First of all, we couldn't afford to lose the money that we would if Darry left work, and second of all, I had written some pretty harsh things about Darry, and even though we were civil to each other now, I didn't want to bring any of those memories back, especially since Darry hadn't even read my theme. It would have been okay if Sodapop came up, but not Darry. Definitely not Darry.

Finally, Mr. Morgan believed me when I told him things were going good with me and Darry, and I convinced him that it was unnecessary for Darry to come up to school. It really _was _unnecessary. Me and Darry were good now.

As I had turned to walk out of his office he said, "Ponyboy, you should really consider sending this to a publisher."

I swallowed thickly and nodded, running a hand through my faded blond hair. "I'll think about it."

* * *

"Ponyboy," Mr. Syme said to me before class. "I want you to stay here after class. I already talked to your Biology teacher and got you out of her class."

I inwardly cringed. _What did I do now? _

Throughout class my mind was reeling. I couldn't even focus on the novel we were discussing that day - _The Tempest_, a classic - because I was so nervous. When someone wants to talk to you that's never a good sign. Because it was either about my theme, or I was in trouble. And neither one of those sounded very appealing.

Class zoomed by. It seems that whenever you're dreading something time just flies on by but when you want something to happen days are equivalent to years.

I briefly considered making a break for it, but I decided that wouldn't do. It was inevitable; I would have to see Mr. Syme no matter how much I tried to avoid it.

Class was ending. As I was walking, my sight when tunnel-vision on me and the walk to his desk seemed to be a mile-long all of a sudden.

"Ponyboy, I want to talk to you," Mr. Syme said formally.

My breath hitched in my chest. "Okay."

"Have you ever considered sending your theme off to get it published?"

"I don't know," I said, staring down at the hole in my shoe. "I guess that would be cool," I murmured the second part. I doubted he even heard me. "I don't even know how to do that."

"Because an acquaintance of mine happens to have a cousin who is an author, and could possibly be your agent," He grinned, like this was the best thing in the world.

I was just confused. "Agent? What's that?"

"It's someone who could… well, represent you, and send your story off to a publishing company," he replied. He fixed a stack of papers on his desk carefully. "I tell ya, Ponyboy, I think you could make some money with this."

"You really think that?" I asked, scratching the back of my neck. "Who would wanna read about a greaser?"

Mr. Syme just shook his head and smiled, exasperated. "I'm sure a lot of people would love it. I swear, Ponyboy, I have a feeling this could be a classic. Like, like, _Pretty Woman_ o-or _Gone With the Wind_!"

I was appalled. I grinned. I didn't think it was any good, because I didn't really put much effort in to it - just wrote what I felt. It was mostly to vent my feelings out and to get my grade in English higher. Which, it did both.

"I just need your consent. Would you let me send it to my friend?"

I sat in thought for a second. It would be really cool to get my story out there. To be a published author at 14 years old.

But on the other hand, Socs were still a problem here at school, so would I really want them to be able to read that?

I thought about the money I would be able to get if I manage to sell my book.

I finally nodded. "Yes," I said, smiling. I nodded again. "But what should it be called?" When I had first turned it in to Mr. Syme it was called "My Theme by Ponyboy Curtis."

Mr. Syme rubbed his jaw in thought. "Outsiders…" he mumbled. So quiet I had to lean in to hear.

"What was that?"

"The Outsiders," said Mr. Syme.

_Supernova_. I read that word in my Science book once, and that seemed to be the only word to describe what just happened. "That's… that's perfect."

"Now. I have to warn you, not every book gets published, and I don't want you to get your hopes up too high. That's just a warning."

"I know," I said, smiling.

"Okay. I'm going to hand it back to you tomorrow, and you can use my typewriter to re-type it out. Well, I will talk to you more about it later. You can go to your class now."

* * *

I was starting to get excited about the whole idea of getting "The Outsiders" published.

I didn't tell my brothers or anyone in the gang. I wanted to keep it to myself, ya know? I was afraid I wasn't going to get published, and I didn't want them to get excited about it and then have nothing happen. Or for me to get rejected.

Mr. Syme even let me borrow his typewriter, because he wanted me to type out a "manuscript" as he called it, and I just thought that it was tuff that we were using such Literature-like slang. It seemed to be more legitimate.

I left the typewriter at school. I was always on it between classes, and even on my lunch breaks. Sometimes even during classes.

I would even bring it outside sometimes to type, and people would always come up to me and ask me what I was doing, typing so much on that typewriter.

I'd always say, "Just workin' on an English paper."

One time, a pretty Soc girl sat down next to me. She popped and chewed her gum noisily, just watching me.

Awkwardly, I said, "Uh.. Can I help you?"

"What are you working on, Ponyboy?" she said as she brushed her dark hair out of her eyes.

"A paper for English," I said somewhat defensively. I was wondering why she cared at all.

"Golly, Ponyboy, I was just wondering," She popped her gum again loudly, and it was grating against my nerves like sandpaper. "Why you typin' it? You can just write it out, ya know."

"I know," I replied, wishing she would just leave.

She took the hint and left. I was able to work alone and in peace.

* * *

I managed to turn in the "manuscript" of The Outsiders in record time.

"Here, Mr. Syme," I said, grinning ear to ear. It seemed to be a thousand pages long. I read through it probably eight-hundred times to make sure there were no mistakes.

It was weird typing on a type writer. It took me a long time to get used to where all the keys were, and I don't think I've ever seen anyone use so much white-out in one sitting.

But it was done, and I didn't think Mr. Syme would care very much about white-out.

* * *

About 5 months later, I got a letter from my literary agent, Mrs. Nancy Almost.

"Ponyboy," Darry yelled from the living room one night. "You got a letter!"

I ran in there instantly. Secretly, I had been perusing the mail we got everyday desperately, looking for any sign of contact from my agent or from a publishing company.

I had since told Soda that I was considering sending it off to get published, but I hadn't told him that I actually did.

He thought it was a great idea and that I should do what I want.

I didn't tell Darry, because he would shoot down my dreams faster than I could say "publisher". He wouldn't think it was good enough to get published.

I took the envelope in my room.

There were two letters, one typed and one hand-written. Nervous, I carefully grabbed the handwritten one first.

* * *

_Ponyboy, _

_I have sent off the manuscript to the editor at Radcliffe Publishing. _

_Enclosed is the book contract offer for "The Outsiders". _

_You will have to look over it with your parent/guardian and send it back to me immediately. _

_Congratulations, _

_Mrs. Nancy Almost_

* * *

"OH MY _GOD_!" I screamed loudly from my room, jumping off my bed. I couldn't help myself. If I got a book contract offer, that meant that it was going to be published!

"_What_?" Darry cried and he and Sodapop both ran in at the same time. They both shared panicked expressions.

I wanted to cry out of happiness. I took a deep breath and smiled the world's biggest smile.

"I have something to tell you guys."

"What is it?" Darry breathed, grabbing on to the wall and looking nervous. Sodapop was smiling at the fact that I was smiling.

"I didn't want to tell you guys until I was a hundred percent sure."

"For the love of God, Ponyboy," said Soda, who was nearly bouncing off the walls in impatience. "What is it?"

"Well, you guys remember the theme I wrote for Mr. Syme's class, right?"

"Yes," Darry said. He was moving his hands rapidly, signaling me to go on with it.

"I sent it in to a publisher. They're... they're going to publish my book!"

"That's great! I always knew you would be successful in life!" Sodapop ejected loudly and excitedly, nearly jumped up in the air with glee for me but Darry stood stock-still. He almost didn't seem to believe me. "How did you do that? Send it off to a publisher?"

"Mr. Syme kept buggin' me about getting it published, and he knew someone in the publishing and writing business. She's my agent! I can't believe this is happening," I grinned more than I'd ever grinned before that night.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Darry said, now starting to grin. "And how do you know it's going to be published?"

"I got this letter from Radcliffe Publishing!" I exclaimed, starting to jump around with Soda.

Darry's eyes scanned the long, long contract. "I'm so proud of you, Ponyboy," he said. I felt my heart nearly swell in happiness. "This says that it will be officially published in about eighteen months."

"I don't care _when_ it's published!" I said, swinging Sodapop around on the bed. "I'm going to be published at fourteen! Or, well, I'll be fifteen or sixteen…"

"I'm going to call Mrs. Almost," said Darry, now looking at the other letter I received. He looked like he wanted to knock our heads together at our antics. "I'll be right back."

I was so happy I could have died.

I owed Mr. Syme a huge thank you.

I wasn't reluctant to get it published anymore. I wanted people to read the story of what happened to Johnny and Dally and to see what it's like to be on the poor side of the tracks. I wanted people to see what I saw - a broken boy with dark hair who was always quiet and filled with secrets. Another with white blond hair that had seemingly nothing to lose.

"Can I read your theme?" Sodapop asked as soon as we started to settle down. "Gosh almighty, it's gotta be a long theme if it's long enough to be a book."

"I know. It was a lot longer than Mr. Syme expected. You're in it, you know," We flopped on to the bed. I looked over to him. "And I'm not going to let you read it until it's out."

Soda hummed sleepily. "Mmm, man, that's like in more than a year from now. Am I made out to be a hero?" I giggled at his response.

"Kind of," I said, remembering how I said he was "a Greek god come down from earth". "I just wrote about what happened at Windrixville."

"That's something I would pay to read," Soda said, semi-jokingly. "I'm proud of you, kid."

I was proud of myself too.

I didn't regret writing the theme anymore. Not at all.

* * *

***READ THIS* **

So, I just totally made up the publishing company. Thought everyone should know.

Also, I got Ponyboy's experience of having an agentt by reading S.E. Hinton's experience. She had a friend whose mother was in the publishing business, who was S.E.'s literary agent.

I also looked up how long it usually takes for a book to be published and what the steps are to getting a book published.

Thanks!


	2. Optimism

**A/N: **Hello, everyone! I'm back, I guess. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and added to favorites and alerts. I appreciate it!  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Outsiders_ by S.E. Hinton, nor do I own "In My Life" by The Beatles.  
Chapter filled with brotherly coolness, optimistic Ponyboy, and arm wrestling matches.

* * *

I was a ball of enthusiasm all throughout the next week.

This morning I had woken up easily, without fighting Sodapop to let me sleep in for a couple more minutes, which is what I usually did.

I couldn't help but notice how happy and great things were.

Everything was going so perfect for me, I almost thought I was dreaming.

Even the weather was looking up. After a long, freezing and almost unbearable winter, it was finally turning in to spring.

As I walked outside with Two-Bit, who was giving me a ride to school that day, I took a deep breath and basked in the fresh air. The smell of rain on the pavement filled my nostrils, and all was serene. Things were really going good for me.

And while I reflected the events of last night, I could hear Sodapop excitedly chatting with Steve, talking about his hot-shot kid brother. A writer at fourteen. I smiled in spite of myself, because I couldn't help but feel proud.

"Well," Steve said nonchalantly to him. He used my comb and hair grease to brush through his swirly hair. I didn't care. I was in too great of a mood. "He's a smart kid. Ain't like you didn't see something like this happenin', anyhow, Soda."

I grinned wolfishly at how my life was going. Even Steve was being nice today.

It was hard for me to believe that Johnny and Dally and Bob died, and all that other terrible stuff happened almost half a year ago. That I've managed to move on and put it all behind me. All the good in my life has cancelled all the other stuff out.

Two-Bit jumped in to his rusty truck through the car window. I shook my head absentmindedly. Two-Bit and his antics. "You coulda just opened the door and got in like a normal person," I said, laughing like an idiot, because I was just so happy.

"Yes, I could have, indeed. But you see, Ponyboy Curtis, writing extraordinaire," he explained jovially, and I assumed Soda or Darry explained everything to him already about getting published, "I'm not a normal person. Come on, Steve!" Two-Bit said obstreperously through his open car window. Steve's head snapped up. I slid in to the backseat. "We're gonna be late!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin," I could hear Steve mutter. He continued to use my hair oil. "See ya, Sodapop. Bye, Muscles!"

Two-Bit lit a cigarette and stuck it in to his mouth. Steve took his sweet time to get in to the car, but I didn't care. I was in too great of a mood to be annoyed.

* * *

It was difficult not to tell anyone at school about "The Outsiders". I wanted to tell everyone, even this cute Soc girl I was starting to talk to more and more everyday. She was pretty, new in town, and nice, and I was pretty sure she didn't know how to act in this school. Mean or nice? Soc or greaser?

But I didn't tell her. I wanted to keep it a secret until it was in print.

After English, I stayed behind to tell Mr. Syme everything. I even brought the letters to school to show him.

I handed him the ruffled papers eagerly and he tore through them, his eyes scanning the words hungrily. "This is great!" he said joyfully, clapping his hands together in excitement. "I knew you could do it!"

"Thanks," I said shyly. I couldn't help but smile, though, even though I was trying to be modest about it. But I wanted nothing more than to jump up and down again.

"I'm proud of you, Ponyboy," he said.

Life was good. I knew that if my parents were here, they would be proud too. And I think that was the thing I was the happiest about.

* * *

Darry had a rare day off, and he decided to pick me up from school. That added to my list of good things that have happened to me today:

1.) No Socs picked on me today.

2.) I'm going to be a published writer.

3.) Mr. Syme is proud of me.

4.) I'm going to be a published writer.

5.) It is spring now; no more winter.

6.) Darry has a day off, so I don't have to walk or take the bus.

"Hi, Darry!" I exclaimed as soon as I walked in. My voice sounded chipper.

"Hey, Pony," he replied, his voice sounding gravelly. "Someone's in a good mood today."

"How can I not be?" I said. "This is one of the best days of my life.

Darry rolled his eyes and snorted, but he was grinning. "You're funny, kid."

I just smiled.

"_There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed…" _

"You want me to turn this?" Darry asked, pointing to the radio. "I know you don't really like the Beatles."

"No, keep it on," I responded. The Beatles sounded a lot better today than they ever did to me. Everything seemed better to me today.

Darry shot a look in my direction, but I just ignored it.

I listened intently, paying attention to every word Paul or John What's-his-name (I could never tell who was singing; they all sounded the same to me) sang brightly.

"Is this Paul or John… um… what's their last names?" I asked Darry.

"I wouldn't know who's doin' the singing, Pony," he said back to me. "But his last name is Lennon."

Lennon! That was it. John Lennon. Yeah, that name sounded familiar to me. "What's… what's Paul's… that's his name, ain't it…? What's his last name? That's McCartney, right?"

"I think so," said Darry, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "I used to go with a girl who loved the Beatles when I was out of high school, before Mom and Dad died. All she would listen to," and then he added, starting to mock sing: "_She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah! She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!_ All I'd ever hear on a daily basis from her. She sure did love her some Ringo."

Oh, yeah. I remembered her. I remembered Darry talking about her, mostly complaining, when I was younger.

"_All these places had their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall… Some are dead and some are living… in my life, I loved them all…" _

Some are dead and some are living. Hmm. Amen to that.

Maybe the Beatles dug okay after all.

I smiled in the warm sunshine. I turned up the radio and let The Beatles take us home.

* * *

"Can I read your theme?" Two-Bit asked later in the evening.

I snorted as he plopped down next to me on the couch, beer in hand. "Why? Ain't like you wanted to read it before."

He guffawed sarcastically and clutched his chest in mock agony. "Ponyboy Curtis, I am offended. You never told me about that theme! Ever! I am 99.9 percent sure that it was never mentioned."

"Yeah, I did," I replied, laughing good naturedly. "You were probably too drunk to remember it."

He took a swallow out of the bottle. "That…" he breathed, "…might actually be true."

I got off the sofa and flipped through the channels. "What do you wanna watch, Darry?" I asked, looking over to Darry, who was sitting snugly in the arm chair.

"Doesn't matter," he grunted back. He was tired, I could tell. He was working so hard, he was even tired on his days off. Work was taking a toll on him. I couldn't help but think about the money I'd be able to get if I managed to sell my book. Maybe I could sell so many copies that we could become rich, and we could move in to a mansion and-

"Turn on Star Trek," Two-Bit said, burping. He took me out of my thoughts.

"Why?"

"I like that show," he replied. "Anything wrong with that?"

"No," I relented, turning the dial and flipping through channels while sitting on the ground. "Is it even on?"

"Ain't you got homework, Ponyboy?" Darry interrupts suddenly. "Don't be worryin' about what Two-Bit's doin'."

I went and did my homework without attempting to protest. I was still in too good of a mood.

* * *

I got another letter from Mrs. Almost. I ripped it open with baited breath, scared out of mind.

_Oh, my God_, was all I could think. _There was a mistake and now it won't be published. It's not good enough, it's not good enough, it's not- _

I almost didn't open it, but I knew I would have eventually had to.

She didn't write anything about it not getting published at all. Thank God.

I let out the breath I was holding. I was so relieved I could have cried. She actually wrote about how she thought that maybe people wouldn't take me seriously about writing gang life since I was so young. I thought that that was the stupidest thing ever, because I was writing out what I lived on a daily basis. Who would know anything about that more than me?

I got worried about that. Would people not buy my book because of my age? Would I get hate for it because I was only fourteen?

Mrs. Almost told me not to panic, though, because people wouldn't have to know my exact age at the moment, and they shouldn't review it badly. She said that would just be biased and opinionated, and that you shouldn't judge on account of who wrote it, but what the content is and how it was written.

That made me breathe a little easier.

Also, since I had "an interesting name" as she called it, she suggested getting an alias or at least shortening it to "P. Curtis" or "P. Michael Curtis" like L. Frank Baum did for all of his books, or even just "P.M. Curtis."

I got that reason. I'm sure people would be taken aback at seeing "Ponyboy Curtis" written on the front of a book at a bookstore.

I liked P.M. Curtis. I was perfectly fine with having almost two identities - one for my author name and one for my personal life. My friends and family could know me as Ponyboy and the world know me as P.M. Curtis. I liked it.

"The Outsiders" by P.M. Curtis. I could see it already. It had a nice ring to it, didn't it? P.M. Curtis.

I called Darry in and showed him what I decided. Two-Bit thought it sounded cool and official, business-like, but he continued to make fun of me for it for the next two hours, until Darry told him to shut up.

"This is great, kiddo," Darry said. He was beaming. "I'm so happy for you."

"Good job, P.M.!" Two-Bit jumped up in the air and hugged me. He reeked of beer. I grinned and grinned.

* * *

"I heard the good news, P.M. Curtis," Soda said as he and Steve waltzed in, home from work. Soda threw his shoes off and they flew in different directions.

Darry snorted. "Oh, glory."

"Not you, too, Soda!" I moaned, trying not to smile. "Two-Bit's bad enough."

Two-Bit smiled innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Darry rolled his eyes and laughed, loud and low, and it caused everyone else to join in with him.

"How'd you find out already, Soda?" I asked him.

Steve ruffled my hair as hard as he could. It hurt. "How does it feel to be a hot-shot? A published writer?"

"Pretty good, actually," I said back to him, being honest for once.

"Darry called me at work. Good job, kiddo. We're all real proud of ya," said Soda, grinning a movie star smile. He ran a hand through his golden hair.

"You shoulda heard him braggin' about ya at work. Tellin' all the co-workers and customers about how his brother is getting published."

I smiled shyly, embarrassed. I could feel my face heating up. I didn't want this kind of attention.

Things were going well that night. We had a good night as friends and we all enjoyed each other's company, and not too many wrestling matches went on, unless you include Two-Bit and Steve getting in to an arm-wrestling match (in which Steve won, and Two-Bit got mad so he tackled Steve, nearly sending him flying straight in to the TV, which aggravated Darry so much that he almost kicked Two-Bit out, but then Two-Bit challenged him to a football game, and then we started playing football).

It seemed as though life was falling in to place perfectly that night. I couldn't help but feel happy.

And nothing could bring me down. Nothing.

* * *

**A/N: **Optimistic Ponyboy is a refreshing change to write about. Please review! I'm begging you! (That rhymed, everyone.)


	3. Anxiety

**A/N: **Hey! It's Friday night, and I have no life! So I decided to update. Yay. I want to thank the anonymous reviewer 'allie' for saying she was going to review twice a day. She didn't do that, but I still appreciate the thought. Thanks so much for the reviews, everybody! I so appreciate them.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own _The Outsiders_. I also kind of borrowed this chapter's idea from _Taming the Star Runner_, which is also an S.E. Hinton book. I was going to write something similar to this, but then I read _Taming the Star Runner_ and it sort of inspired this. It will be sort of different from that book.

* * *

Two months later, I quickly walked home from school. The days before summer started were winding down quick, and I could tell that it was going to be a hot one.

Oh, glory.

I received another letter.

_Mr. Curtis, I am going to be around Tulsa, Oklahoma for the next few days. I would very much like if we could go grab lunch and discuss your book…_

I gripped my newest letter so tight I almost ripped it. Inhale, exhale.

_…You know my number. Please call as soon as is best for you._

_Mrs. Nancy Almost_

_Editor-in-Chief_

_Oh my God_, I thought. _Oh my_ God.

I put this letter in to the rest of my stash of letters I had stored up. I stored them all under a loose floorboard on my side of the bed. I knew that wasn't a very good place for them, but that was the best place I could think of. Nobody would think to look under there anyway.

I'd been checking the mail religiously since I got my last letter. Usually nothing. I could admit that it did get a little disappointing not hearing from Mrs. Almost, but I was still buzzing from the fact that I actually managed to sell my book. It was enough to make my heart stop beating for a few seconds.

So I nearly ran to the phone and looked up Mrs. Almost's number.

"Mrs. Nancy Almost's office," a voice droned on the other line.

"Uh, yeah," I replied. "I-I need to talk to her - to Mrs. Almost."

A short pause, and then - "Hello? Nancy Almost speaking."

Her voice was raspy and boisterous - but for some reason it sounded nothing like I expected it to sound like. From her letters she seemed so formal and proper. I pictured her voice to be small and petite, business-like.

"Um, hi … I'm Ponyboy Curtis. I was call -"

"Oh, hello, Ponyboy," she said brightly. "I was anticipating your call."

I grinned nervously and clutched the phone with a vice-like grip. My knuckles were turning white. I stared down at the hole in my shoe absently. "Really?" Man, that was so tuff! She was talking to me like I was a grown-up!

Man, I gotta say, it feels real good to not be treated like a kid. I was used to it - being treated like a kid and babied. I was the youngest of my brothers and the youngest of the whole gang, so I was always treated different, or called "kid".

"Oh, yes, indeed. Ponyboy, I am … I am appalled by your story. You truly have a gift. You just seem like such a wonderful person. I've been wanting to meet you for such a long time now."

I could feel myself blush, and I was extremely glad that I was home by myself and no one could see me.

I laughed, shuddery and nervous. "Wow …" I said, feeling very pleased by that compliment. "Thank you, ma'am."

I'd never thought of myself as a real writer. Sure, when I was little I wrote short stories, but what little kid didn't do that? When I thought of writers - real, real writers - like Hemingway or Mark Twain, I wonder what it was like for them. Did they always _know_ they were writers? Were they _born_ with a strong itch to write? Did they know their passion from the start?

Mrs. Almost kept talking on for a while, and we eventually made plans to go to this nice restaurant I'd seen and heard of but had never been to.

_Oh, glory_, I thought. _What do I wear to this? How am I gonna afford this?_

I sat and paced for a few good minutes. This was exciting. My mind was racing. My heart was thudding. I felt exhilarated - like I was about to be in a rumble.

I hung the phone back up after realizing that it was not yet back on the receiver. I smiled to myself and started to make dinner - it was 4:30 (my walk home from school was kind of long, and I stayed after to bum around with Mark Jennings a little bit. He was tuff, someone I could see me hanging around with a lot in the future) and Sodapop got off at five. I couldn't wait to tell him about this.

* * *

Soda came home around 5:15, and the spaghetti was done.

He was humming some song absently while he threw his shoes off. Some things never change, especially with Sodapop.

"Hey, Soda. Whatcha singin'?"

"I don't know," he said. He shrugged carelessly. "Heard it on the radio today."

"How was your day, Sodapop?" I asked, randomly deciding to change the subject.

"Uneventful. Nothin' happened all day. What about you? What is a day in the life like for my kid brother P.M. Curtis?" He grinned like a Chessy cat and lay on the couch.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I gotta letter from Mrs. Almost."

His head snapped up to look at me from his spot on the couch. "Your - your book person?"

"Yeah!" I said, glad he was as excited as I was.

He stood up and grabbed both sides of my face. "Oh, golly, P.M. Curtis. What did she want?"

"She wants to meet up and talk about my book."

"Talk about your book?" Soda inquired as we walked in to the kitchen. I was putting some spaghetti on a plate for him. "That's a good thing, right?"

"I guess so," I muttered under my breath. And then, I asked, "Should I just leave this out for Darry later?" I pointed to the spaghetti to indicate that that was what I was talking about.

His eyes lit up at the sight of food. He brandished his fork and began to dig in eagerly as soon as I set his plate in front of him. "Shoot," he said with a full mouth, spaghetti sauce dripping down his chin. "Darry would eat anything. Don't matter if it's sat out for a while."

I sat down next to him and began to devour my own food.

"Yeah," I snorted. "I mean, he eats _your_ cooking."

"What's wrong with my cooking?"

I just stared at him, a grin plastered on my face. "You're crazy, Soda."

* * *

Steve came over around the same time Darry got home about a half hour later, and Soda - of course - had to tell Steve about my future meeting with Mrs. Almost. He exaggerated some details - like when he said it was an interview with the press, and I was going to be on TV, but I wasn't about to tell Steve the truth.

Steve just smiled some wry grin and looked at me. "Hey, maybe you'll get rich, and we can all move out of this shithole neighborhood. Maybe even this shithole town!"

"Aw, this town ain't so bad, Stevie. It's just the neighborhood," Soda said, already getting poker chips and cards ready.

"Don't get too excited," I said. "My book might not even sell too good. It ain't like they're going to be like, 'Oh, we're buying your book. Here's a thousand dollars'."

"Yeah, but wouldn't that be just grand?" said Steve. He paused, and then went on quietly, "I'm sure it'll do good."

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Thanks, man."

"Don't mention it."

I knew he really meant to don't mention it. He did, of course, have that smart-ass reputation to uphold. We were supposed to be the two that always had less-than-friendly fights. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I could feel that burning dislike we had for each other for so long slowly diminishing. Maybe it was the fact that I was going to be fifteen in a couple months, but it still had taken me by surprise when Steve of all people invited me to go out with him and Soda to the strip.

Maybe I was growing up. Maybe everyone would treat me like a grown-up when I publish "The Outsiders". That would be major cool.

Or maybe Steve was getting bored with Soda and Two-Bit, and was desperate. I bit my cheek to hide a smile at the thought.

I was lost in TV and my thoughts for a few minutes when I felt a firm hand on my shoulder. "Thanks for making dinner, Ponyboy," It was Darry.

"You're welcome. It was no problem."

He grinned and sat down on the recliner. I remembered something. "Mrs. Almost wrote me a letter."

He looked over to me, alert. "What did she have to say?"

"She wants to meet up about the book soon. At some fancy place too."

"What restaurant?" Darry said, rubbing the non-existent stubble on his jaw line.

It was some French word. I had to struggle and rack my brain to remember how Mrs. Almost said it. I didn't really know how to pronounce it, but Darry seemed to know what I was talking about. "I went there with Holden once," he said. "Long, long time ago. Socy place. Real good food, though …"

I didn't want him getting all nostalgic on me, so I said, "What am I gonna do? It sounds real fancy. How are we gonna afford this?"

"It sounds like a business lunch," Darry said absentmindedly. "The rich people usually pay for business lunches. And besides, it wouldn't really be fair if she put together the lunch and then made you pay for it."

I thought back to something my dad told me before he died: Never let a lady pay for her meal.

I didn't think that rule counted in this case, because Mrs. Almost was a working woman and I was sure she could pay for herself. Not to mention, I wasn't going on a date with her or anything.

"You sure, Dar?" I bit my lip, worrying.

His confidence reassured me. "Yeah, kiddo. It'll all be good."

Sodapop and Steve's poker game was becoming a shouting match. "You dirty, rotten cheater!" Steve yelled. I just shook my head at them.

"What do I wear to this kind of thing?" I asked. I'd never done something like this before.

"You gotta act like it's a job interview, ya know? Dress for the job you want to have."

I had to think about that. I wanted to be an author. I'd seen pictures of authors before, but they all looked like regular people. "Well … What does a writer dress like?" I said semi-jokingly.

Darry chuckled softly and ran a hand through his greaseless hair. "Just gotta dress nice. I'm sure we have some stuff. I'm sure Soda has something in that pig-sty wreck of a closet …"

From the kitchen I could hear Soda yell, "I didn't do nothing, Steve!"

I laughed as Steve said, "You now owe me five bucks."

Sodapop cursed loudly. "Damn!" and then they busted out in to an arm wrestling match. _Why does this always happen with them?_ I couldn't help but think.

"Where's Two-Bit?" I said aloud randomly as Darry went in to me and Soda's room.

"I don't know, Pony," Soda replied, in deep concentration from the arm wrestling match. "I think he's watchin' his sister or something."

"Darry?" I called. I was starting to get a little panicky again. "Are you sure we can do this business lunch? I can tell Mrs. Almost. I'm sure she'll understand. She seems like a pretty understanding lady…"

The truth was, I was starting to get nervous about the dinner. What would we be talking about? She seemed to like my book … that was a good sign. But I couldn't shake this feeling of anxiety. I was scared I was going to mess something up.

Darry came back out with some nice slacks and shirts. They were nicely folded, but all wrinkly. You're going to have to iron those, I thought in the back of my mind.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it. And just think, P.M. Curtis," he said, "in a while, you'll be able to buy all the dinners you want with your best-seller."

I threw my head back and laughed.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Revision

**A/N: **Okay, I kind of have a funny story to tell.

So, I was with this girl at school. We were talking about people we know who like One Direction (I personally don't like them too much, but I don't have a problem if you like them). I said something about a twelve year old I knew and she said, "Says the thirteen year old."

And I was all like, "NO! I'M FOURTEEN! I'VE BEEN FOURTEEN FOR A MONTH! AND I'M IN IT JUST AS MUCH AS YOU ARE!" (Well, my fourteenth birthday was in December.) I was laughing so hard though. I thought it was hilarious, but maybe it was just me. She was confused.

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I so, so, so appreciate them!

I totally lied when I said this was going to be three or four chapters. It's probably going to be seven or eight.

* * *

"Are you ready for this, Ponyboy?" Darry asked, putting the car in park.

"Yeah, I guess so," I replied. "Little nervous, ya know?"

"Ahh, don't be," Sodapop said from the backseat (he'd insisted on letting his "hot-shot writer" brother - well, that's how he put it - take the front seat. Whatever). "It'll be good."

"Do I look nice enough?" I turned back to Darry from the passenger side. "I don't look to hood-ish, do I?"

"You don't look" -he paused at my word choice- "_hood-ish_ at all, Pony."

"How am I supposed to know where she is? Where do I go? What do I say to her? What if she doesn't want it to get published after all, and this was just some kind of meeting where -"

"Relax, Ponyboy," said Soda. He plopped a strong hand on my shoulder. "Just be yourself. Be cool. Calm, ya dig?"

"Easy for you to say," I slid down in my chair and chewed on a nail. I wish I could be as carefree as my older brother.

"You ready, Pone?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," and with that, I opened the door and walked out. Darry was following close behind.

I looked back at our truck and saw Sodapop climbing in to the front seat from inside the car. I could not help but wonder why he couldn't have opened the door and climbed through from the outside. It would probably be a lot easier.

Darry put a hand on my shoulder and steered us threw the crowded restaurant. It was fancy, dimly lit, and faint piano music could be heard as if off in the distance. It was smoky, filled with quiet chatter. Soc side of town.

"Wow…" I drawled. There were paintings hung up on the walls everywhere we turned. We even had to walk down a flight of stairs to get to the main part of the restaurant. That was weird.

"Nice, ain't it?"

"Yeah, it is," I nodded. "Real nice."

Darry went over to this waiter guy and told him I had a reservation with Mrs. Almost. I hoped I didn't look too ratty with my hand-me-down suit and tie.

"Darry?"

"Yeah, kiddo?" he replied.

"How'd you know about the reservations?"

"I talked to Mrs. Almost, Pony. I thought I told you that."

"You did?" I asked, partially shocked because he _hadn't_ told me about that. "When? You never told me that."

"The day after you received your letter. I had to learn more about this meeting. She also told me where you'd be sitting here."

I was relieved. At least now I didn't have to worry about going to the wrong table. "Dar, what if she doesn't want to pay for it? For the food?"

"She will, Ponyboy. You gotta go now. Good luck, kiddo."

Darry patted my face and I was left with a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. The waiter guy - a red-headed kid probably only a couple years older than Darry - led me through the busy place and pointed me to a table.

Mrs. Almost's appearance matched her voice completely. She was slightly heavy-set, with curly black hair with a gray streak in the front. Probably in her early fifties.

She was sitting straight up, drinking some wine or champagne out of a nice glass.

Eyes wide, I sat in the chair in front of her.

When she saw me, she smiled. A wide grin that showed all of her pearly white teeth. "Hello," she said boisterously. She held out a hand for me to shake. "You must be Ponyboy. I'm Mrs. Almost."

I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, holding it firmly and looking her in the eye. Darry'd told me before we left to make sure you always give someone a firm handshake. Especially in a job interview. I figured this was close enough to a job interview.

"Hi," I said. I hoped I didn't sound too nervous. I kept trying to keep in my mind what Soda said to me earlier - _Just be yourself. Be cool. Calm._

At first we were talking about her life. I just let her talk mostly about her family and nodded and said, "Yeah, uh-huh," whenever it was appropriate. I was listening, though. Very intently.

She had two daughters, both in college. They both went to Yale, apparently, and her oldest was about to graduate in June. She said that they would both probably end up nurses. I didn't even question her about how that doesn't make any sense at all.

She also told me that her husband died around this time last year.

I was starting to get afraid we would never get to talk about the book. A different waiter came to us and took our order. I made sure to pick the cheapest thing on the menu - which was spaghetti. But it was still pretty pricy. Everything there was.

"Okay," she eventually said. "Enough about me. Ponyboy, I have a question for you."

"Uh-huh?" I said. "Okay."

"Where did … where did you even … come up with this whole story line? My Lord, you've got quite the imagination."

I bit my fingernail. "Well, actually, Mrs. Almost…" I continued to chew on my nail.

"Oh, honey. There's no need to be nervous. You can stop chewing on your fingernails. Glory, that was a bad habit I used to have. You can call me Nancy."

"Well, anyway, Nancy," I swallowed. It seemed weird to be calling an adult I hardly even knew by her first name. "Well, I didn't make this up. This … this all actually happened." I stirred my Pepsi with a straw.

"What?" She clutched her chest. "You really saved those children in that fire? All that stuff really happened?"

"Yeah," I said, blushing. "I got that same news article I wrote about at my house."

She looked at me incredulously. "You mean … you mean, your parents are really dead? Please tell me you made that part up."

"Nup," was all I could say. "They died last … January, was it? Car crash."

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said. She looked real sorry. "Were all those characters - Johnny, Dallas - all real people?"

"Yeah. I wrote everything like I remembered it."

"And Johnny really told you to "_stay gold_"?"

"Yeah," I said, and then I cursed myself for saying "yeah" so much. I noticed that it was pretty easy to talk to her. She was like Cherry. I liked and trusted this woman.

"I cried when I read this, Ponyboy. And the fact that it really has happened makes it so much sadder. You poor child …"

I stared at the floor and bit my lip nervously.

Another waitress brought us our food. It looked like I had a mountain of pasta on my plate! This could be my dinner for three nights!

"Ever been here before, Ponyboy?"

"No," I responded. "It's nice, though."

We ate in silence for about a minute or two and then Mrs. Almost - I mean, _Nancy_ - spoke again. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around the fact that this was all real. And you didn't make anything up at all. Didn't exaggerate?"

"Nup. Just wrote it how I experienced it," I tried to sound nonchalant.

"It's raw; it's dramatic. Your grammar could use some work, but I think we should leave it be. I believe it adds a more authentic quality to the book."

I just nodded like an idiot.

"Did you really skip a grade?"

I said, "Yeah. I skipped the seventh grade."

"Do you like to read a lot?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm. I spend almost all my time at the library."

"Do you have a lot of friends at school?"

I stabbed my fork in to my spaghetti. No. I didn't. After Johnny died, I was quieter than ever. I still hadn't gotten more friends. "Well," I said, being honest. "I kind of stopped talking to people after Johnny died. There is one kid at my school I kinda buddy around with, ya dig?" I smiled, thinking of Mark Jennings. "I mean, sure, I could hang out with my friend Two-Bit some times but he's not going to be in high school forever. He's a lot older than me, too. And I'm sure he don't like hangin' around with a kid like me."

She stared at me thoughtfully. "Do you know of a lot of people who like to read in your school?"

I stopped to think about that. "Sure, there are a lot of kids that go to the library and stuff."

"The only thing I think will be an issue is that you're so young. The critics ... they shouldn't judge you off that. At first I didn't know about you writing about gang life. I didn't realize that this was your life…" She drifted off.

Nancy waved her hand to signal the waiter. She tapped her glass gently three times to indicate she needed more wine.

I just shrugged.

"Who do you think would like to read this book?" she inquired, turning back to face me.

I got giddy at the thought of people actually reading my story. That my book could actually be in Will Rogers High's library.

"I guess kids like me," I said. "Teenagers. Young adults."

"The thing is," she replied, "there are no lead women roles. Do you think that would steer girls away?"

I think of Evie, Sandy, Kathy, and Sylvia and wonder what she's talking about. "Uh … no. I think that this is the kind of thing anyone can relate to."

The waiter that led me to our table comes back with a bottle of wine and fills Mrs. Almost's drink. "So, you feel like people can relate to being …"

"Discriminated against," I interjected. "And it don't have to be by Social class. It can be anything. Any form of … of bullying or something. I'm sure everyone has felt like they don't belong at least once in their life. I think that's something we can all relate to."

She flashed me another toothy grin. She cocked her head slightly and squinted her eyes, studying me. "You just really get things," she said. "You really do."

I didn't really understand her cryptic sort of words. "You get what I'm saying?" I said.

"Yes, actually. It's totally relatable. You're so right, Ponyboy."

I breathed a sigh of relief. I was glad she understood. I didn't want her to think I sounded crazy.

She stared at me for a short while longer. I squirmed uncomfortably and took the last bite of my spaghetti. I couldn't believe I ate it all. Oh, well, I guess I'd always eat like a horse.

Mrs. Almost picked around on her white pasta and looked up at me. "Another thing that may be a problem is the profanity. Now, the book isn't too bad with the cussing, but some of the language is … kind of inappropriate."

"You can cut out some of the language," I said, a little too eager.

"That would be alright with you?" she said. "It wouldn't be a huge difference. I'm sure people would still be able to tell what's going on."

"Yeah, yeah, that's fine."

Mrs. Almost still had a lot of her pasta left. Suddenly, she said, "Tell me about yourself, Ponyboy."

I grinned. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Tell me about your brothers. About your friends. Not Johnny or Dallas. Your other friends that aren't mentioned as much." She didn't say this but I could hear it: _The ones that are not dead_. She folded her hands and leaned back slowly against her wooden chair.

"My brothers? Well, Darry's pretty much the same thing I described in the book, except we get along real good now. He works a lot of hours, and, man, I sure feel sorry for him. Sometimes I feel like he should have thrown us in a boys' home."

At this, her face twisted up in a grimace.

Before she could say anything about that, I went on: "Sodapop, well, he's crazy. He always makes you feel good about yourself. He's real handsome. He reminds me a lot of my mom."

Her brown eyes were boring in to my soul. I took that as a sign to continue on. "My friends … ? Well, I guess Steve Randle is my friend." But then I added as an afterthought: "Well, we're buddies, not friends. There's a difference."

"Oh? And what is that difference?"

"Well, a buddy is someone who's got your back, someone you can depend on. Like in a rumble or when you get jumped."

"Isn't that what a friend is?"

"But you gotta like a friend. Steve don't like me. He thinks I'm a kid. A friend is someone you hang out with, pal around with. Sure, a friend's got your back, too."

"I think I know the difference," she replied. "What about your other friend? Two-Bit?"

"He's crazy. Crazier than Sodapop, if you could believe it. He's a good pal. We kinda got along better after Johnny and Dal died."

She nodded and popped her knuckles. "Waitress!" she called. "Check, please!"

The waitress came back a few minutes later and gave her the check. I inwardly sighed. She was going to pay for this. Secret relief swept over me in a strong tide.

After the check was paid, and everything was over and done with, Mrs. Almost said, "Ponyboy, it was such a pleasure to meet you. Oh, it was so nice. If you don't mind, could you send me a copy of that newspaper article you're in?"

"Sure," I said, knowing we had a couple at home. She was talking about "Juvenile Delinquents Turn Heroes". I would never forget that.

Mrs. Almost buttoned her thin jacket. "Do you need a way to get home?"

"Oh, no," I said, as we walked up the stairs to get outside. "My brothers are here."

"I'd like to meet them."

"Okay," I nodded. "Mrs. Al - I mean, Nancy, thank you for lunch."

"Oh, it was my pleasure, Ponyboy."

I didn't realize how short she was until she stood up. I actually towered over her like a giant. I was getting pretty tall, actually. Almost as tall as Soda.

I grinned happily as she followed me to our old truck.

When my brothers saw Mrs. Almost walking with me they both stepped out of the truck immediately. Soda was wearing his DX work shirt and cap, complete with oil stained jeans (he had only worked a half day that day, because he really wanted to be there when I did this interview). Darry had on decent pants and a nice button up shirt that really showed off his muscles.

If they were surprised to see Nancy they didn't show it. They both shook her hand, and she didn't even seem afraid of them.

"You must be Sodapop," she said to him. He grinned, putting on his charm. "Gosh," she said again, her eyes darting back and forth from me and Soda. "The resemblance between you two is uncanny."

"Really?" I asked, taking a good look at Sodapop. I didn't see it at all.

"Hello," she said brightly, turning to my other brother.

"Hello," Darry said, putting on his business voice he saved usually for Social workers. "I'm Darrell Curtis, ma'am."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," She paused to grin and look at me. "You've sure got quite the brother. He sure is something."

Darry nearly combusted with pride. "I'm proud of him," he said.

Soda winked at me.

"You should be. Well, it was very nice to meet you all. Ponyboy, thank you. You will be hearing from me in the near future."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She gave us a wave goodbye and we hopped in the truck, me sitting in the back.

"She seems nice," said Sodapop absentmindedly as we started to drive away.

Darry grunted his agreement. He was too focused on driving.

"She was," I smiled a wide smile. "She really dug things, ya know? She didn't judge us for being greasers. She actually seemed interested in what I had to say."

"That's great, P. M. Curtis," Soda turned from the front seat to look back at me, biting back a grin. I had to hold one back myself.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Sorry for the long author's note! I felt like I had to share that with the world! Aren't I funny?! c: No? Okay.


	5. Charity

**A/N: **Hey! What's up in everyone's lives? Has anyone read _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_? I read the book about a month ago, and just saw the movie last night. It. Was. Perfect. If you haven't read the book, read it NOW. However, I have to warn you, there are explicit parts. Not too bad, but it's SUCH A TOUCHING BOOK. I haven't been that affected by a book since _The Outsiders_. And the movie was one of those rare, rare cases where it was possibly better than the book.

**Disclaimer: **I don't any characters you see down there, except Mrs. Almost (I think).

* * *

"How'd it go?" Two-Bit asked. Steve and Sodapop sidled up next to us on the porch steps. Steve gripped the long neck of his bottle of root beer and chugged some.

"Yeah, how did it go?" he said.

"How did what go?" I swallowed. From behind me I could hear Soda choke on a laugh. He lit a cigarette and ran a hand through his golden, greasy hair, smiling.

"What, you an invalid now?" I snorted at Steve's remark. "Jesus Christ, Soda, you'd think him gettin' a book published would make him smarter."

"How would that be?" Two-Bit grins. "The kid ain't got nothin' in his head but air. Getting a book published wouldn't do nothing to change that."

"Ya guys done insultin' me yet? I'm right here, ya know. And thanks for the vote of confidence, Two-Bit." But I was smiling when I said that. Truth was, it didn't really offend me at all.

"It's just so fun to do," Steve intoned between cigarette smoke. "Insult you, I mean. Sometimes I just can't help it, dig? There's just so much wrong with you."

Sodapop sat rigidly next to me, and I could tell he was nervous that this was going to turn out of hand. His eyes were shifting, moving back and forth from me to Steve. He shouldn't have had to worry about that; I wasn't going to turn a stupid disagreement in to a fight.

A little shocked that Steve was just blatantly insulting me, I cleverly said, "Oh, wow, really? That's strange, because Evie told me the exact opposite last night."

Two-Bit and Sodapop simultaneously burst out in to wild laughter. Two-Bit even spit out some of his beer, leaving a print on our porch. I didn't think it was _that_ funny, but I had to admit, I was sort of proud of myself for coming up with that one on the spot - I was never one to come up with very good comebacks in a short amount of time.

But Steve was already aggravating me, and that's sad because he had only been over for about ten minutes. I guess we'll never get along.

I bit my lip to hide the smile threatening to play on my mouth. I took a glance at Steve, who was smiling wryly at me, his face stoic.

"He got ya good, Steve," Two-Bit blathered between gasps of laughter.

Soda blew a smoke ring and grinned. Running a hand through his golden, greasy hair, he raised an eyebrow at Steve. I could tell he was waiting for Steve to say something back.

But he didn't, so Two-Bit went on, "Well, as I was saying, before I was ever so rudely interrupted," - his gray eyes switched back and forth from Steve to me, his tough gaze cracking- "How did the interview whatcha-ma-call-it thing you went to yesterday with the secret agent person go?"

I lifted an eyebrow. Secret agent? I'd told him I had an agent - as in literary agent. I shook my head.

"It was good," I said. I attempted to blow a smoke ring but failed. It ended up being a huge cloud of smoke (I'd have to ask Soda how he does it later). "The lady - or as Two-Bit would say - my secret agent was good."

Steve snorted a laugh. Two-Bit went on as though he didn't hear anything. "What about the place, Ponyboy? How was that?"

"Was it Socy?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, it was Socy, all right. The food was good. The place was good."

"You sure have a way with words," Two-Bit replied mockingly while he clutched his chest. He turned to Soda, but he was pointing at me. "And he's getting published? Everything is 'good'. Ain't you got any other verbs to use to describe everything?"

My jaw dropping, I said, "Adjectives! Adjectives are what are used to describe -"

"Aw, lay off, Two-Bit," Soda said, cutting me off. I nodded at him in gratitude. He always stuck up for me. "I don't see _your_ book gettin' published."

"That is a very, very valid point," he replied, "but I ain't got the mind the kid does."

I didn't know whether to be touched or offended. It was curious to me that one minute they were insulting me left and right and now they went to saying nice things about me.

Steve raised his eyebrows. "Truth is, I don't even know if I _want_ his mind." He threw his hands up, raising his shoulders, and made a feigned sheepish face. Two-Bit shrugged and rubbed as chin as though he was contemplating this thought.

I threw my arms up in the air and gave an exasperated laugh. "Glory, is this 'National Insult Ponyboy Day'?"

"That's everyday for me," Steve said coldly. "I wish that was a thing, though. I'd celebrate it everyday."

"You're an ass."

"Aw, you know we're just kiddin', Ponyboy," Two-Bit leaned closer to me. He lowered his voice when he said, "Or, well, at least I am."

Darry poked his head outside. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothin'," Sodapop said brightly. "Having a friendly discussion among friendly friends. Care to join us?"

"No thanks, little buddy." He turned to me. "Ponyboy, you got a letter inside."

"Really?" I asked, excited.

"No, man, he just made that up for no reason," Steve muttered.

When Darry turned his back I flipped Steve the bird. Sodapop and Two-Bit laughed happily again, and I grinned, satisfied by myself. Steve's mocking chuckles rang through the house as I entered it.

I saw it on the coffee table next to some bills and tore it open hungrily. I was always excited to get correspondence from Mrs. Almost - I mean, Nancy. Even if we had just had lunch yesterday.

Unlike some of her other letters, this one was handwritten.

_Ponyboy,_

_I had a wonderful time having lunch with you today. It was a real treat, and I hope you had as great a time as I did._

I smiled. I did.

_I was wondering: could you possibly send me that newspaper article you're in, please? Only if it's possible for you, of course, but I would most definitely want to read it._

_Hopefully we can do lunch again sometime._

_It was an honor to meet you, young man, and I will definitely keep in touch._

_Cordially,_

_Nancy Almost_

"What does it say, Ponyboy?" Sodapop yelled from outside on the porch.

I walked toward him. "You wanna read it?" I flung the screen door open and held the letter out to him.

"You know I don't like reading. Read it to us."

I did.

"Let me see," Steve said, reaching out for it. He scanned the paper carefully, and I could see his eyes moving back and forth, telling me that he was reading it.

"I got other ones in my room," I said. I was excited, because I really liked talking about my book. I was usually modest and quiet about stuff like this, like when I win a race in a track meet or win an art contest, but this was something I was _really_ proud of, and I wanted my friends to revel in my glory alongside me.

"Let me see 'em."

I ran back in my room with an unending grin on my face. I handed the pile of envelopes to Steve.

He read all of them and we just sat and watched. With each letter Steve read, he seemed to get a little less bitter. I think it was when I was saw the inkling of almost-pride in his eyes that made realization hit me.

I was actually getting published.

Sure, I had thoughts about it. My book can be in a library. I could get rich. People could read my story.

But my friends were proud of me. And even though I pretended to act like Steve's opinion never mattered, it did, and seeing him happy about my happiness brightened my life by about 50 percent.

"That's good, Pony," he said, attempting to be cool, nonchalant. But I saw that look in his eyes. He didn't know I did, and if I'd have blinked I'd have missed it. He was good at hiding it. But he was too late.

"It's real good," Sodapop said.

And then he patted me on the knee and Two-Bit ruffled my hair and the air was light and the stars were shining, big and bright, and I felt like all was right in the world.

* * *

"Darry?" I called from my room later that night.

"Yeah?"

I walked in to the kitchen. Rubbing my dry eyes, I rummaged through the cabinets and drawers. "We got that one newspaper article Johnny and Dally and me were in?"

He looked at me curiously. "Why would you want that?"

"Mrs. Almost wants it."

He sat and let that sink in for a moment, and then, nodding, he said, "Okay. There's a copy in my room somewhere."

"Thanks."

After I found it, I folded it carefully and put it in an envelope. I sent it to Nancy's work.

* * *

I got a reply from her about a month later.

It was a pretty pointless letter to write, with no real reason except for her to be gushing about how "brave" I am.

She did, however, tell me that the manuscript for my book is close to being typed and printed.

I was exceedingly happy for the next few months.

* * *

On the morning of my last day of school I got a check in the mail.

I choked on a bite of cereal and Darry walked in, slapping me on the back.

I stared at the letter in my hand.

_It has to be a mistake_, I thought. _Jesus Christ, it's gotta be a mistake_.

It was for 300 dollars. _300 dollars! _I'd never held that much money in my hand in my life! That was too much.

With more to come, Mrs. Almost wrote on the note that was attached.

Darry looked at what I was so intently looking at. I heard the breath leave him. "Glory," he muttered in surprise.

I stared up at him to see that there was a shocked smile on his face. He squeezed my shoulders a little too hard.

Soda bounded in from the bathroom, his hair still sopping wet from the shower he'd just took. Toothbrush in mouth, he said incoherently, "What's up?"

"What was that?" Darry said. "Didn't quite hear ya there." He pointed to his face. "You got some tooth paste right there."

My older brother laughed, settling himself next to me by the table. He wiped his face on a napkin by the table. He saw what was clutched in my hand. "What's this, Pony?" he asked, grabbing it.

I didn't answer. I was going to let him figure that one out on his own. He looked at it for a second and then his eyes widened. "Holy moley," he whispered. "That's a lotta cash."

"I know, I know it is," I said, just as taken aback. I turned away from Soda. "And I want you to have it, Darry."

"What?" Darry turned away from the pancakes he was making. "No. No way, kid. That's your money. You earned it yourself."

I frowned, knowing I wounded his pride. Darry didn't like to admit that he needed any help when it comes to things like money. But I wasn't going to give up that easy. "Come on, Dar, it could help with the bills and stuff."

Soda nodded eagerly. He just dug me. Dug what I had to say.

Darry didn't look at me. "You ain't got to worry about that," he said in a gravelly voice. The kind of voice that would make most sane people run away as fast as they can.

I knew I was pushing it, but really, I didn't want all that money. I felt like I cheated. I hadn't worked that hard, yet I was getting so much money. Darry worked so hard every day, yet I could see the worry lines on his face, the tenseness in his back, the way his shoulders hunched over and the look of worry and sadness on his face whenever he had to pay the bills.

And that was something that was enough to keep me awake at night.

So I tried with him again because he could be so damn stubborn at times. "At least take half of my check. We each get 150."

He ignored me. He just went on as if he didn't hear me, absently starting to make eggs.

I started getting frustrated. "Lets make a deal," I said. He spun around. Now he was listening. "How about for every check I get, one half goes to you and the other half goes for my college fund. That sound good?"

Sodapop nodded again. He agreed with me on this, and I was glad he was there. He would support my argument, which would make Darry actually consider what I had to say. "That seems fair, don't ya think, Dar?"

Darry grunted his response and flipped the pancake over with a spatula. The sound of a door slamming coming from the living room made Darry leave the kitchen.

I walked up to the stove to finish the breakfast Darry was in the process of making. I turned to Soda. "I'll take that as a yes?"

"I think that's safe to say."

He winked at me. I heard Steve and Two-Bit exchange greetings with Darry.

"Darry just don't like admitting to needing help," Soda said, picking his nails with the switchblade he pulled out of his pocket.

"Oh, I know, Soda. I just want to help him out. He needs a break. I didn't mean to hurt his feelings or anything. I wasn't tryin' to give him charity."

"Aw, don't worry about that," Sodapop said gently and looked up to me as I turned away from the stovetop. "Darry's a tough guy. He'll get over it. But I'm with you all the way. He does need a break, and some extra dough would help. Remember when I dropped out? He didn't like that at all. His pride was all wounded - he kept goin' on and on and on about how he don't need help, he's fine, yadda yadda yadda, which he did. He don't like to admit it. It will be fine. You're doin' the right thing."

"Yeah," I turned back to the eggs. "Yeah."

As I walked to Two-Bit's truck to drive to school, I thought about what Soda said. _You're doin' the right thing._ Sometimes I doubted it.


	6. Anticipation

**A/N: **What is this? A quick update? Wow. You know what I realized? I didn't even say thank you for the reviews last chapter. I'm so sorry. So THANKS TIMES A MILLION. They make my life, and just know I appreciate every single review, favorite, and alert. Thanks. So. So. Much.

**Disclaimer: **Pretty pointless for me to say, but I don't own anything. At all. I don't own "Light My Fire" by the Doors, or "Strawberry Fields Forever" by the Beatles. Or CCR or the Mamas and the Papas, Porgy and Bess, or whatever reference I make to something.

Also, I took Ponyboy's experience with The Beatles's from my friend's. He was an Elvis fan through and through until he heard "Strawberry Fields Forever". He had only grown up with older Beatles.

* * *

About a month later, a shrill ringing pierced the air and I jumped out of my bed immediately. I ran in to the kitchen and glanced at the clock across the room as I reached out blindly in the dark for the phone. It was 5:45 in the morning!

Sodapop bounded slowly out of the room behind me as I picked up the phone. "Hullo..?" I mumbled sleepily in the kind of tone Darry would scold me for. I yawned, smearing my hand carelessly down my face.

"Ponyboy?" the voice on the line said.

I was snapped awake. "Mrs. Almost?" I had to speak quietly because Darry was sleeping in his bedroom.

Soda's eyes widened and he looked at me questioningly. "Pony?" he whispered. "Who is th -"

I waved my hand to silence him, because Mrs. Almost was starting to talk to me. "Ponyboy? What time is it over there? Were you sleeping?" she inquired.

I blinked. Of course I was sleeping - it was only almost 6 A.M. "Um, 5:47 in the morning…?"

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh, child! I am so sorry! It's no wonder you sounded so sleepy…"

As she drifted off, I looked at Soda. He was starting intently at me. I put the receiver to my chest. "Who is that?" he asked, eyes wide and slightly panicky.

"Mrs. Almost," I said to him, and then held the phone back up to my ear. "Yeah, Mrs. Almost, it's okay."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm in New York right now. I should have thought of the time zone difference. I haven't been keeping track of time lately. My life has been so hectic; I've been so busy, what with my daughter graduating and… I just…"

"It's okay," I said hurriedly, because I was afraid she'd never get to the point. "Uh, what do you want?" I cringed at how tactless I sounded.

"May I talk to your brother Darrell, Ponyboy?"

"Well…" I muttered, turning to Sodapop. "He's asleep right now."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Gosh! I'm just so scatterbrained sometimes. I am so flustered. I apologize."

"It's okay," I said for what seemed to be the thousandth time that morning. "Is it possible for you to call in an hour or something?"

"No, no, I've got a business meeting at eight. Oh, I should have sent a letter instead, but I was so afraid to; it would take much too long."

"Okay, well…" I fumbled uselessly for words. Why couldn't she just tell _me? _"Can I take a message for him?"

"Of course, Ponyboy."

Soda looked at me again and mouthed, _What's she saying?_

I mouthed back, _I'll tell you in a second. _But it was obvious he couldn't tell what I was trying to say to him.

"I was going to contact your brother to tell him about this first but I think you've earned the right to know what has been going on with the publishing company."

"It isn't anything bad?" I asked, my voice raising octaves. Sodapop's head swiveled abruptly in my direction. His jaw was slack. "Like, they're not going to publish it now because -"

She laughed heartily. "No, honey. They wouldn't cancel the publication after they've already sent contracts out. You need to stop worrying."

"Sorry," I sputtered. Now it was my turn to say sorry. "I get scared about that."

"I've been planning to schedule a meeting among the editors, you, the publishers, and myself. We need to discuss the cover art of your book."

"Really?" I almost shouted. Sodapop smiled at how excited I was, but he held a finger to his lips.

"Shh," he whispered with a glimmer of a laugh. "Darry's sleepin'."

I mouthed the word, _Sorry_, and continued to listen.

"Well, of course. What were you expecting me to say?"

I thought of all the times I'd lie awake at night - thinking of all the things that could go wrong. They wouldn't end up publishing it because of the obscene language. The gang violence. They would decide they didn't like the book anymore and it wouldn't be published.

But I just shrugged, even though she couldn't see me through the phone. "I don't know."

"But before I put everything together, I need to talk to your guardian to make sure the dates are alright for you."

"Okay," I said, ecstatic. "Wow, this is so tuff. I didn't know the authors picked their covers of their books."

"Well, it's their book, isn't it?" she said, giving a tiny cough. "I think it'd only be fair."

"I think you're right."

"Have your brother call me at this number… I recently moved offices at my work and now I have a different number…"

I told Sodapop to give me a pen and paper while she rattled off some digits. "When should he call you?"

"Um… I'll be in Connecticut for my daughter's graduation at Yale all next week. I've been traveling for such a time now. Not this Monday but the next should be a good time."

"Okay, okay. Thanks, Mrs. Almost."

* * *

"Guess we're awake for the day, huh?" Sodapop said, flopping on the couch next to me.

"Yup, I guess so."

"What did she want? Mrs. Almost?"

"Oh," I said, grinning. "I get to pick the design for the cover of my book."

"Maybe you'll get to draw it."

"Whoooa," I snapped my fingers. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah, maybe you can draw it and send it to that Nancy woman," he replied, poking me in the side.

"She wanted to talk to Darry."

"Ya know," Sodapop breathed, "I think she's got the hots for him. She married?"

"Her husband died a year ago or something." I thought about what Sodapop said, about her liking Darry. I turned to face Soda. I walked to the front porch so I could smoke a cigarette and Sodapop followed me. The sun was rising. "You really think she likes Darry? She's a little old for him, don't ya think?"

"Maybe she's a cougar," he was saying back to me. "Older ladies can like the young gents."

"Yeah, but that's weird. She's like fifty."

"So? Love knows no age. And Darry's a good lookin' fellow. When he was in high school the broads were all over him."

I shook my head, heavily disturbed. "Please don't tell me you're going to try to hook them up. That is so creepy. And Darry don't even like her. Hell, she don't even like him!"

"Did you see the way her eyes flashed when she first laid eyes on him?" He smiled.

I laughed out loud. "Uh, no? When did this happen?"

"She wants him."

"No, she doesn't. When I talked to her she seemed still pretty mournful about her husband. And I'm pretty sure Darry wouldn't want a girl who's thirty years older than him."

Soda looked out to the sunset. I looked at his face, man, he looked handsome. The golden light make him look like Zeus.

It was hot, really, really hot, even this early in the morning. Darry would be waking up soon.

"Yeah, I'm gonna assume you're right," he agreed. "Superman deserves his Lois Lane."

I snorted.

"What kind of girl do you think he's into, Pony?"

"I don't know," I responded. "Someone who's as calm and cool as he is. Someone who's smart enough for him to tolerate."

"I think so too. But sometimes it's weird to even think of him dating a girl, ya know? It's like he's never had a girlfriend."

"What about that one girl he dated in high school? The one who was obsessed with the Beatles?"

"Oh, yeah," He laughed. "How could I have forgotten her? She was crazy."

* * *

Darry woke up, clean shaven, to us playfully shoving each other on the front porch. "You guys are up early," he commented. "I went to your room to wake you guys up but you weren't in there."

I ashed my cigarette and stretched. "Why were you gonna wake me up anyway? It's summer, Darry."

"It's good to wake up bright and early every morning. What do they say? 'The early bird gets the worm'?"

Soda chuckled lightheartedly and punched me in the shoulder. "Hey, we're just jealous 'cause we gotta go to the work and he don't."

I sighed, closed my eyes, and nodded. "Gotta love the summer," I said. Relaxation, warm weather, no school. A time for lounging around. For fun.

My mom used to sing a song from her favorite opera: Porgy and Bess. How did that song go? _Summertime, and the living's easy…_ Yeah, that's it. If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear my mother singing it.

"Did either of you guys happen to make breakfast?"

I opened my eyes and Sodapop and I stole guilty looks at each other. We were too busy talking about Darry's dream girl to even think about that.

"Nup, sorry, Darry," Soda said with a sheepish smile. "I'll get right on that."

"I think we got a chocolate cake in the ice box," I yelled as he walked in.

* * *

As we were sitting down, eating chocolate cake and eggs, Darry started, "Why were you guys awake so early? I usually have to drag you guys out of bed."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you: Mrs. Almost called."

"And that's why you woke up?" He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "I'm surprised I didn't hear it."

"Yeah, she wants to schedule this meeting thing."

"Little early to be calling," he muttered more to himself than anyone.

I handed him the note that I wrote on earlier and he studied it. Analyzed it thoroughly like Darry Curtis does with everyone and everything.

"She's in New York. They're an hour ahead of us in time. She was all frantic and busy. I don't think she even realized she was calling so early."

He nodded and grabbed a pen, sticking it in his mouth.

Soda sat down with his plate in front of him.

* * *

Finally it was time for us to go. I'd been waiting for what seemed like months now.

"Are you ready?" Darry asked me. "You good? You good to go?"

"Yeah," I said, shrugging. I wasn't as nervous for this as I was for my first meeting with Mrs. Almost. "Where is this place again?"

"I don't know. Mrs. Almost gave me the address but we gotta stop by the DX to get a map."

"Okay."

Mrs. Almost told Darry about the place we have to meet. She told him that it was right outside Oklahoma City. It was kind of a lengthy drive - about an hour and a half. But I was willing to do whatever it took, and I could tell Darry was too.

When we stopped at the DX, we both slipped out of the car. I had to fan myself with my hand, it was so hot outside.

"Sorry I can't come with you today, Pone," Sodapop said. Cigarette behind his ear, he tucked in his DX uniform shirt.

"I'll fill 'er up, Darry," said Steve, patting the car gently. "It's on the house."

Soda gave a huge grin that bared his perfect teeth. Steve swatted him on the head with a rolled up newspaper. "Aw, you're askin' for it, Stevie."

They went on to start wrestling each other - in the middle of their work - and I wondered how they managed to even keep their jobs.

Darry shook his head. "Stop it. Both of you."

"Aw, Dar," Sodapop said in his easy-going nature. He tapped Darry on his stomach. "It's all good."

Darry smiled. "See you, little buddy. We gotta get goin' now."

"Bye, Darry! Bye, Ponyboy."

"See ya, Sodapop."

* * *

"I'm so bored," I moaned in to my hands.

"What, and you think I'm not?" Darry snapped.

Putting my hands up defensively, I inwardly groaned. Darry was acting exceedingly crabby today. So I did what Darry had been trying to get me to do since I was born: used my head. I shut my trap and turned up the radio.

* * *

With nothing to do or to talk about, we mostly listened to the radio the whole way there.

Music sure was changing, I realized, the more and more I listened. No more Elvis. I didn't hear an Elvis song once.

It was suddenly replaced by things like Credence Clearwater Revival, the Mamas and the Papas, and even - get this - a weird, psychedelic Beatles.

What happened to the mop top wearers I'd just listened to a few months ago with Darry?

"Strawberry Fields Forever"?

It was freaky, their seemingly sudden change in music, but the sad thing is I much preferred this over the old Beatles.

* * *

We finally approached our desired destination. "Pony," he said fervently as he looked out the window. He reached out blindly and tapped me a little harder than he meant to. "Read me the address on the map."

I did.

"Okay, well, it looks like we're here."

I nodded and swallowed thickly. I tapped my foot to the song playing on the radio. I'd never heard it before - it had to be new. But I nodded and tapped along to it, mostly because I was getting more nervous by the second, and I needed something to keep my occupied.

"_The time to hesitate is through…" _

Darry turned it down.

"_No time to wallow in the mire…" _

I turned it back up.

"Ponyboy, knock it off!"

"_Come on, baby, light my fire…" _

Darry snapped the radio off. I looked up at him.

"I'll walk you in," he said gruffly. "Get out."

"Okay," I ran a hand through my hair.

As I stepped out of the car and in to the tall, silver-lined building, I braced myself for what was to come.

* * *

Reviews would be extremely cool.


	7. Acceptance

**A/N: **Guys, I feel absolutely horrible. I'm so, so sorry I haven't updated in over a month. I haven't been able to update because my laptop has been broken. I've been having to use my phone to read and review stories. That being said, thank you all so much for the reviews you've all given me!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything here except Barbara, Mrs. Almost, and Mr. Dick Morrison.

* * *

With Darry's strong, vice-like grip on my shoulder, I examined the building carefully. On my right, there were people wearing business suits and using suitcases. On my left, there was a violinist, softly playing music for the building. _Oh, glory_, I thought. Abashed, I stared down at my slightly-disheveled appearance. With the money I'd earned from my book so far we were able to buy a cheap suit for this occasion.

Though it was nicer than anything I'd ever owned or worn before in my life, it looked like nothing compared to these people's suits.

Darry talked to pretty receptionist. His shoulders, broad and tall, were straight. They weren't showing how tired he truly was from working. He leaned against the counter and talked to the brunette receptionist easily. Darry winked and the girl nearly fainted in his arms. I resisted the urge to throw up. But, I made a silent note to ask my oldest brother how he does it so easily.

It's a side of him that I didn't think about that much. Since my parent's accident, Darry became a parent. I never really thought of him with someone with a life. It was like he didn't even have one. I thought the same with my parents. They were Mr. and Mrs. Curtis - and that is it. Their lives revolved around us; they didn't have friends or people they liked to buddy around with.

And I know that's not true now that I look back on it, but I never thought of them as actual people.

Darry turned to give me an impudent sort of smile. I took a step back to give them their distance. I wasn't too sure what I was supposed to do.

I checked the invisible watch on my wrist and huffed out a breath. We didn't have time for this. We had a schedule going and it wasn't part of the schedule for Darry to sit and flirt the whole day.

Every once in a while I'd hear Darry say something, then I'd hear her snort and giggle out a distorted laugh.

Finally, after what seemed to be twenty minutes, Darry waltzed over to me. I had since sat down on an adjacent bench. Darry had a feigned look of embarrassment, his hands in his pockets. I was just glad he had an opportunity to act his age for once. He didn't get them very often.

"You ready to go, Dar?" I asked.

"So, I was talking to Barbara…" Darry started to say.

I cut him off with a wild laugh. "_Barbara_? You guys are already on a first name basis? I hope you got her number, Dar."

Darry bit his lip in that annoyed fashion which made me regret ever even saying anything. Jeez, if looks could kill… "You're getting as bad as Two-Bit, you know that?"

I held my hands up in a defensive manner, but I was biting back a laugh. "O-okay, go on. You were talking to … to Barbara, and…?"

"And I did get her number, for your information. Anyway … she said I can't go any further now. You're going to have to take an elevator down the left hallway…"

I started my mental checklist. Elevator down left hallway.

He continued to ramble off some instructions. I listened intently. In the back of my mind I wondered if Darry was gonna go back to talk to Barbara again after I left.

My brother put his hands on my shoulders and squinted his eyes, sizing me up. He looked like he was going to give me the kind of pep talk coach always did before a big run. I was sure Darry'd received lectures from his football coach when he was high school too.

"You be good, Ponyboy."

I saluted him cockily. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Darry chuckled, but he looked somewhat agitated. I didn't want to push his buttons anymore, even though it was pretty fun to do. The look he kept giving me reminded me to knock it off. Though I reckoned he was starting to like being teased by me just as much as he did when Soda did it.

An obscure-looking woman could be seen filing papers beside us. Hair up in a bun, she looked at us and sneered at us like we were scum. And just like that, my confidence was zapped out of me.

Darry looked like he had a few choice words he wanted to say to her. His fists were clenched at his side, but I calmed him down, whispering, "No, no! Darry, it's alright."

He looked sheepishly at me. Darry and his uncontrollable temper.

He rubbed his neck. "Uh, you better get goin' now."

"Yeah. I'll see you later."

As he was walking out he gave a wave. I gave him one back. "Good luck, kiddo. And remember, first elevator and down left hallway, floor three. Mrs. Almost will be there to meet with you."

I took deep breath after deep breath. What was I getting into?

* * *

Oh, _God_. Which floor was I supposed to go to? The familiar nervous feeling was starting to develop in my gut again. I chewed a hangnail.

I clicked floor three and hoped for the best. I really needed to start listening to Darry when he talked to me.

* * *

I luckily clicked the right button to get on the right floor. Thanking my lucky stars, I reared around a corner. Mrs. Almost and some other people I didn't know were conversing. The way they talked made them sound like they'd been friends for the past ten years. I counted about ten people, including Mrs. Almost. I picked up on their talking.

"…an amazing story for someone who's so yo—"

The salt-and-pepper-haired man abruptly cut off his speech as him and the rest of the group saw me.

"Um … hi," I said, biting my lip hard. I didn't want to appear too nervous, but I couldn't help it.

"Hello, Ponyboy!" Mrs. Almost exclaimed cheerfully, happily like the way she always was. She smiled, showing her dazzling white teeth. "Oh, it's so good to see you again!"

She introduced me to everyone. I found out they were all her colleagues; that wasn't hard to tell. The man I mentioned earlier was named Mr. Dick Morrison. He gripped my palm in a firm, crushing handshake. I tried to shake it back just as hard. He patted me on the back. He said, "I've heard many great things about you, and you've got some talent, son. My, what a story."

"Thank you, sir," I replied breathlessly. Inside my mind was reeling. I could feel a huge grin spread on my face. "Thank you."

The older guy smiled good-naturedly at me, which made me feel a whole lot better than how I did before. Mrs. Almost led us all in to a small, spherical room.

There was a table arranged in the center of the room, and it was neatly aligned with eleven chairs. I smiled in to my hand.

Mrs. Almost settled herself informally and patted the seat next to her to signal me to sit. I did as I was ordered.

Mr. Morrison sat on my right.

Mrs. Almost cleared her throat as another woman started to talk, "Hello, Ponyboy."

I forced myself to look up at her. I managed a tiny grin. "Hi."

Mr. Morrison said casually, "I'm sure you talked to Miss Nancy over here about why we're meeting here."

I nodded. "Yeah, yeah. To talk about the artwork on the front of it. The book."

"You're right," he said as he rubbed his grizzled chin.

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly as a silence fell over the room. I tried not to sound too eager when I said, "I, um … I got a drawing I have in mind for the cover." I started to pull a folded piece of paper out of my suit pocket.

"You do?" a woman - I couldn't remember her name; she was older, much older than Mrs. Almost - asked. "Did you draw it yourself?"

I didn't unfold it yet. Instead, I let Mr. Morrison go on and talk. "Jesus, you draw too? My, my, my," but he wasn't saying this in a sarcastic way. "Draws and writes? Do you sing, as well?"

I laughed. That was embarrassing. "Oh, no. I'm a horrible singer."

"Well," said Mrs. Almost with a smile, "let's see that picture, Ponyboy."

I unraveled a piece of paper I had ripped out from my sketch book. I'd worked long and hard on this, because I wanted it to be perfect.

And it was - in my mind. It looked exactly how I wanted to.

On the cover were boys: nameless, faceless greasers that reminded me of people I used to know. A nostalgic cover to anyone who looks at it. And in big letters on the top it read "The Outsiders".

It was tough and tuff, and yet it still had an ornamental quality about it.

Mrs. Almost stared intently at it, alternating from looking at it to me. Slowly her face spread in to a wide, toothy smile and she nodded frantically.

She passed it on to the rest of the people in the circle.

They all nodded their approval.

"Are you wanting it to look _exactly_ like that?" a man who sat across from me asked.

I didn't exactly know what he meant by this. "Well, I would like to be _close_ to that … if that's possible, I mean. But if you have to change it, that's fine."

"Wow," Mrs. Almost mused. "This meeting didn't take nearly as long as we'd expected it to."

Panic. "Was I not supposed to bring a drawing in? I'm sorry, I-I thought that you wanted me to—"

Mrs. Almost waved her hand to shush me. "Hush, child."

I raised my eyebrows slightly, but again, did as I was told.

"How old are you, Ponyboy?" Mr. Morrison suddenly asked.

I was slightly caught off-guard by the random question. "I'm going to be fifteen soon."

"How soon?"

"A couple of days. July 22nd," I said.

I ran a hand through my hair and wondered if it would be proper meeting etiquette to start smoking a cancer stick in front of everyone. But despite how much I wanted to, I didn't.

"Terrific," Mr. Morrison breathed very sagely. "Terrific."

"Do you see yourself writing more novels besides this one?" asked Mrs. Almost.

I pondered this thought for a second. I shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. I like to write. Maybe I'll write mystery novels or something. Who knows?"

A lady who hadn't said anything the entire time said, "Do you think your book will be big, Ponyboy?" Her voice was oddly saccharine.

How was I supposed to know? I shrugged again. "I like to think it will. It's fun to dream."

Mr. Morrison chuckled heartily and adjusted his tie. His grey and black beard and husky voice and appearance reminded me of a lumberjack's. He clenched my shoulder in his palm. "He's just being modest. It was one of the greatest pieces of work I've ever read. 'Course he'll write more. It'd be a sin not to. When I found out you were only fourteen when you wrote it…"

My jaw nearly fell to the floor. One of the greatest pieces of work? It almost frightened me to realize how much of an impact this could make on people. That _I_ could make on people.

They all laughed at my reaction. Mr. Morrison said, "Don't look so shocked, kid."

I admired the people in this room, with their informal, casual, and friendly way. They all seemed nice and they were accepting. They didn't judge me for being poor and for being a kid greaser and for that I am grateful.

We talked for a while more about my interests and life, and then finally Mrs. Almost cleared her throat, signaling it was time to go.

She gathered my drawing and put it neatly in to a slot in her briefcase.

One by one they cleared out. Mrs. Almost stayed behind me. She told me she was going to walk me to my car. "Your brother's here, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "He's probably chatting with that receptionist girl. Barbara."

Mrs. Almost put her hand over her face to cover a laugh.

As we continued walking, she said, "It will probably only be a few more months until it's officially published." I suppressed a gasp. My heart beat sped up in happiness.

When we finally got downstairs, I was right. Darry was talking to that woman. Still.

"Darry," I said to get his attention. I smiled smugly at him and I swear I saw him start to blush. Huh. Darry blushing. Who'd have thought?

Darry turned and looked at me, internally scowling at me, I could tell. But he painfully smiled when he saw Mrs. Almost.

"Thanks, Mrs. Almost," I said to her. I was as sincere as I could possibly be. Because without her I wouldn't have even been there. "Thanks for everything."

* * *

One or two chapters left! Stay tuned and thanks for reading!


	8. Conclusion

**A/N: ***insert excuse here* Really, there's no excuse for not updating. I'm lazy, I like Supernatural too much, etc. Yes, but this is the conclusion! I hope I've done it justice. The beginning of the chapter takes place a couple months after the previous chapter. The epilogue is a few years later. Thank you for all of your lovely support. I don't know what I would do without it.

* * *

School started up again, much to my dismay. But so far it was a decent year. Or at least - it beat the last year by a landslide, and it'd only been a few months.

Soda picked me up from school that day, and then I saw it.

A girl was reading it.

_It. _

Oh my God, was all I could think. It was all that ran through my head.

"Sodapop!" I cried as we turned the other way, crossing down the curb. "Look what she's reading!" I pointed to the girl on the side of the street.

She was reading _the Outsiders_.

"Well, I'll be damned," Sodapop replied. "You know that girl, Ponyboy?"

"No," I said, smiling.

That's when the realization started settling in. People were actually reading something I wrote. And that felt good. I could only hope she was liking what she read.

* * *

"Now, class," Mr. Syme beamed. "We're going to be starting a new book today."

Many groans erupted from the class. I waited with baited breath; I think I knew where he was going with this.

"Now, now," he tried again. "This book is different from all of the rest of those books out there. You see, this book was written by one of our very own."

I put my head in my hands, sighing.

Everyone turned and looked at me. "Heh, heh…" I tried to laugh, but it came out all shaky and awkward. I slid in my chair and part of me wished I could crawl under the floorboards.

I wanted my message to come out and reach people. I wanted people to know what really happened with Johnny and Dallas. But I didn't want to be here with them when they found out.

"Ponyboy, would you like to start reading?"

Oh, God. Maybe I put something too personal in there and now I didn't know what to do…

"No," I shook my head adamantly. "No, no."

Mr. Syme grinned knowingly at me.

* * *

"Wow! It's so good!"

"He's like a hero!"

"It's so great!"

That was all I could hear as I tried to walk through the hall. I tried to ignore the feeling of people watching me. But this watching was different from the last time. This was admiration.

"Who knew a greaser could be so cool?"

I had to bite a laugh back at that one. It was a Soc.

Mostly, the thing I'd been worried about was exposing all of the Socs' names. I almost considered changing them, but then I realized that they needed to be exposed. People needed to know what really happened.

And for the past few weeks I'd been expecting some kind of attack on me by the Socs, but they've been surprisingly neutral about this.

People seemed to like my story. I had people asking me about it; not in a nosy way. Just genuinely curious.

* * *

The girl in yellow approached me in the empty hallway.

"Elizabeth," I said. I was trying to make myself sound official and businessy.

"Ponyboy," she said, and I could hear the pleading in her voice. "Ponyboy, gosh, I'm…"

I smiled, genuinely happy. "It's okay."

"This… this reading about what I did in _the Outsiders_… this has been such a wakeup call. I truly was a horrible person to you."

Now it was my turn to apologize. "Sorry I put that in there… I didn't mean to make you look bad. It was mostly to make a point."

"I'm so sorry." She clutched her books to her chest. "I don't think you're a hood. I don't know why I said it. I guess I meant it at the time…" Her mouth formed a tight white line. "I don't think it anymore. Ponyboy, your book. Golly, if I'd have known what you had been going through…"

"It's okay," I reassured her. "Really. And my life ain't all that bad."

I looked up to the hallway clock. I was going to be late for my next class.

She grinned. She looked real pretty when she smiled. "It was nice talking to you, Ponyboy. Maybe we can do it again some time."

As she turned away, I watched her leave. I smiled to myself. I felt like the king of the world.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I'd like that."

Nothing could stop me.

* * *

"Mrs. Almost," I said over the phone. "How are you?"

"Oh, dearie," she scolded. "You know I don't like it when you call me Mrs. Almost. Nancy, honey."

I stammered, "Oh, oh yeah…" It was always hard to remember she got remarried.

Yeah, Mrs. Almost got remarried. To Dick Morrison. Remember him? He was a tuff guy. I liked him.

I got invited to the wedding, which I thought was extremely nice. They liked me, though. That was something I could tell.

* * *

Everyone liked hearing about what happened.

Sure, they all knew what happened. I told them a lot, but not everything.

Sodapop looked on the verge of tears throughout it. I swear, the kid never read a book in his life, but he wouldn't put this one down. I guess if your kid brother wrote it you want to read it more.

But I watched him read it. He makes the most interesting facial expressions when he's reading stuff.

Hell, I watched them all read it. They each got their own copies (Two-Bit of course, when he first got his copy, asked me for to sign it, which I grudgingly did).

They all liked it. More than liked it, really. I was surprised Steve wanted to even read it at all. I guessed he wanted to read about himself. But he wasn't mentioned too much, only when I said I didn't like the guy. But now, I have a respect for him. Sure, we've butted heads since the publication of the book, but the guy's tuff. Now I can kind of see why Sodapop likes him.

All is well.

* * *

**_Epilogue:_**

My life has had its ups and downs.

More downs than ups, but I like to keep positive. Be optimistic, you know?

My book has paid off everything in life.

I've gotten scholarships in creative writing. Full ride to Oklahoma City.

And that's where I am now. Nineteen years old, I've got a full writing career ahead of me. I'm already on the second draft of the new novel I've been writing.

My brothers can both be fully supported. No more panhandling our way through life (pardon the exaggeration).

I have a lot of money in the bank.

And I've used it to help people out.

Like for Two-Bit. When his mom got sick, he actually got a job to help pay for her medicines and hospital visits. Let's just say I … secretly … chipped in on some of the medical bills. Two-Bit needed the help. That was a dark time in his life.

I make sure I help as many people as I possibly can.

You have no idea how great it feels to get mail from people, telling me about how my book changed their life. It makes me feel great, but it's also scary. How have I made such an impact on someone's life? How did my childhood endeavor change someone's outlook on life?

I'm grateful to the people who've made my book what it is today.

Thus, my tale ends. And luckily, on a happy note this time.

So sure. My life has had its ups and downs.

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

Thank you for all you've done.

_P.M. Curtis._

* * *

I hope this is a satisfactory ending.

Also, I don't want to be one of those people who promo their own stories, but, uh ... yes, I do, actually. Could you guys check out my story Hard to Explain? It's full of fun, shenanigans, and Hippie!Randy! Thanks! I'll review your story if you want. Oh, wow - I've resorted to bribery. Great.


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